


You did What?

by Lizzie1498



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Cuddling, Humour, Lies, M/M, Spanking, Stealing, punsihment, smacking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-06
Updated: 2014-01-20
Packaged: 2017-12-31 15:58:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1033578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lizzie1498/pseuds/Lizzie1498
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of one-shots about Sherlock getting disciplined. Fluff. No slash. Nothing Sexual. May or may not be in Character. Rated T.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

A/N: This is just a fluffy one shot..but it may turn into a series if you all so wish? This will probably be out of character, but it is so ridiculous I don't think it matters... I will try my best to keep the characters maintained! There is no slash or sexy times...Please review if you have the chance! Thanks!

John had had a great night.

A cup of tea to accompany his favorite show's newest episode and a delicious dinner only to fall into the sweetest slumber he has had in ages.

He awoke in his bed curled hopelessly in his duvet and cradled by the pillows beneath him.

And to make it better?

It was a Saturday morning and he could sleep in as late as he wanted because he was off work and no cases had been reported thus far.

He smiled to himself and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes as he stretched and mewed and indignant noise that he hoped Sherlcok hadn't heard.

Oh, Shit.

Where was Sherlock?

He glanced worriedly at the clock.

10:34 A.M.

And he had heard no noises.

No weird smells.

No gunshots.

No disruptions.

Something was wrong.

With a groan he tossed his feet over the bed and onto the cold ground and padded down the stairs in his pants and shirt.

"Sherlock? Is everything-" He stopped in his tracks as he felt his stomach hit the floor with his jaw close behind.

The usually messy flat looked as if a herd of buffalo had smashed through. The chairs were covered in a grey matter that also splattered some of its remnants on the wall and ceiling. The window had been painted blue and filtered out a considerable amount of light now. The book shelf had been toppled over and the nick knacks and books now lay sprawled around the room, some books bent and ripped beyond repair that actually made John feel ill. The Soldier even noted some new bullet holes in the wall. And to top it all off-

There was a chameleon chilling on the coffee table which was surprisingly untouched from the aftermath that had to be-

Sherlock Fucking Holmes.

John allowed himself two breaths, one to calm his heart and the other to bellow as loud as his small frame could withstand without toppling over.

"SHERLOCK! LIVING ROOM! NOW!"

It took all but ten seconds for the familiar lean, pale and dark haired man to emerge from his room with a bored look on his face.

"What's the matter,John? Why are you shouting?" He had the audacity to yawn.

"What's the matter? Sherlock! Look at what you've done! You have trashed the place! and now there is a chameleon on the table!" John raged at the much taller man who just glared over his head completely puzzled.

"What chameleon, John?" Sherlock inquired, and John turned to see the chameleon was no where in sight.

"Well, uhm. We will find it later. But first you will explain to me the reason behind this!" He gestured to the space around him. "Some kind of experiment? Because if it is, it has gone much too far! I will not allow you to continue to ruin our flat, waste money and our things for the sake of some absurd-"

"I was bored."

John paused from the interruption and stood for a few seconds to understand what he had just heard.

"You-what?" He blinked in disbelief.

"I was bored." Sherlock repeated.

"You were bored?" John echoed.

"Are you having trouble understanding English? I. was. Bored." He ruffled his hair and fisted his eyes.

John's brain still wasn't processing the seemingly logical explanation of his flatmate's words.

"You. Were Bored." John felt like an idiot as he slowly repeated the words.

This time Sherlock rolled his eyes and sighed loudly, "Did I stutter, John? Or are you really that thick that you can't-"

SMACK.

This time it was Sherlock who stuttered.

"I-uhh-Didn't mean-sorr-I- Ouch!"

"Did you just stutter, Sherlock? Or are you really that thick that you can't understand when you need to shut. the fuck. up?!" John seemed to grow with each word as Sherlock slowly cowered away.

Still in shock with a hand to his reddening cheek Sherlock uttered, "I'm really sorry. That was rude of me."

John seemed to deflate at the Great Sherlock Holmes humbling to him, but what he didn't know was that it wasn't the smack that pushed Sherlock into submission but the fact that John was thoroughly upset with him that made him rethink his words.

John was his best friend. His only friend. The last thing he wanted to do was upset him. Clearly he had because John never raised his voice to Sherlock in anger and he had never, ever lifted his hands to him.

"No shit, Sherlock!" John glared and shook his head at the man before him.

"You did all this because you were bored?" John asked again to only get a tentative nod in reply.

"This is the most childish thing you have ever done. I hope you know that. And since you insist on acting like a child, I am going to treat you like one. Come here." The soldier was beginning to show as John straightened and pointed to the spot directly in front of him.

Sherlock cursed himself for being so docile and stepping to where John pointed which was so close that their toes were touching and their noses almost.

Sherlock stood there, looking down at John who glared at him with disapproval, shock, anger and sympathy.

Sherlock didn't like that combination.

But before he could think twice a hand grasped his ear and dragged him to the upright arm chair and bent him over the armrest so his hips were uncomfortably lifted while his face was smooshed into the dirty chair covered in an old experiment.

And before that incredible mind could figure out what was happening a hand came down on his buttock. Hard.

He would have yelped, he almost did but he swallowed it quickly.

Another resounding smack was the extra solid fact he needed to process what was clearly happening to him.

Sherlock Holmes was being spanked.

"Stop this! I am not some child! Let me up!" He pushed at the seat only to be pushed back with a very strong hand and to have the rhythm on his backside continue with renewed vigor and strength.

"No!" John shouted and continued the berating and to make it more agonizing he began to lecture, " You are acting like a baby so I will treat you like one. And you will stay still and take it or I will prolong your punishment? Understood? Now do you know why you are being punished?" John didn't stop his smacks but awaited an answer.

"Could you stop so I can answer!?" Sherlock once again cursed himself but this time for sounding so helpless.

"You can clearly talk just fine while I continue!" John brought his hand down so hard on the last word it stung his own flesh, and this time, Sherlock yelped.

"Okay! Okay! Just please take it easy!" Sherlock almost begged.

"I will do it as hard as I please and you will only answer my questions!" Another particularly hard smack that drew another indignant murmur.

"Can you repeat the question!?" Sherlock whined and began to wriggle in pain.

John almost laughed but caught himself before sternly stating, "Do you know why you are being punished?"

"Because-because- I I was destructive out of boredom and I ruined the flat and I stole a chameleon-"

"You stole that chameleon?" John paused and Sherlock let out a sigh of relief with a quick, "NO!"

John smirked to himself, glad Sherlock couldn't see. "So now you are lying to me?"

"No!" Another smack, this one hard enough to make Sherlock rock forward painfully and almost hit the other armrest.

"Okay, yes, I lied, I did steal the chameleon! But it was for an experiment!" John picked up his rhythm again.

"So not only did you lie to me, you stole a chameleon and planned to experiment on it?!" John put his shoulder into those hits.

In fear of getting more hits than already established Sherlock decided to tell the truth.

"Yes" He whispered meekly and whimpered as a heavy hand fell hard.

And then it just stopped.

The fire on his arse stopped and he breathed a sigh of relief at John's lost presence. Maybe he just was so angry he stocked off? Sherlock had no problem with that and quickly made to stand and escape only to have a hand return between his shoulder blades and press him down.

And a spoon placed lightly on his sitspot.

"JOHN! NO PLEASE! I LEARNED MY LESSON!"

SMACK.

The wooden spoon took up the speed his hand had and berated every inch of the Detective's backside, moving from the left to the right, up and down all the way to his thighs. John noticed that on the inner thighs where Sherlock was extremely sensitive he didn't have to smack nearly as hard to get a reaction, so he concentrated his hits there until Sherlock began to moan in obvious pain. John didn't wish to cause him extreme pain, yes, he deserved to be clearly uncomfortable, but he would survive. But nevertheless, John struck elsewhere in a completely random pattern jumping from the soft sit spot up to the flesh of the buttock where he could apply much more force.

"Not only did you destroy some of my property,you disrespected me, you lied, stole and endangered an animals life!" John couldn't keep the surprise put of his voice as he moved the spoon lower to the thin thighs again.

"Technically, a chameleon is a-"

"Shut up Sherlock! I want you quiet until I am done!" And John continued in silence except for the whipping woosh of the spoon through the air and the crack of it against thinly clad flesh.

He continued for many minutes until he heard a small whimper which gradually grew louder and more uncontrolled until Sherlock was out right sobbing as he drummed his toes on the floor and dug his nails into the armrest in front of him. And then he finally said it and meant it.

"John, I am so sorry!" He blubbered into the seat and continued to cry even as the smacks stopped. And this time, John knew the lesson had been learned.

"And will you do this again?" John demanded and delivered one of the hardest swings yet.

Sherlock yelped before hurriedly hissing, "No!"

"And do you understand why what you did was wrong?" Another hard smack.

"YES!"

"And do you understand that if you do this again, I will do this again?" And this time John gave Sherlock's bum a warning pat, not nearly as hard as the previous ones but not light either.

"Yes! Yes, I understand!" John tossed the spoon on the floor beside the wreckage and slowly reached his hands underneath Sherlock's chest and drew him up to stand.

"And understand if I have to do this again, you will NOT have the convenience of clothing. Understand?"

Sherlock nodded once and his crying had still not ceased but grew stronger mostly in shame of this whole situation.

"Okay, now you big baby. Come here." John led Sherlock to Sherlock's bedroom slowly and noticed with some sadness that he was trembling.

John lay on the edge of the bed and eased Sherlock on his side next to him before crawling behind him and pulling him closer, mindful of his burning backside.

Sherlock reluctantly allowed himself to be held and comforted after just having his backside beaten purple and he knew he wouldn't be able to sit for a week. John drew up the sheets and rubbed small circles up and down his friend's sweaty back until his breathing evened out and the trembling from the shock of it all left his limbs and he lay there beside John hiccuping silently.

And just when John actually thought he was asleep he heard an utter.

"What did you say, Sherlock?" He whispered only to hear a slightly defiant voice murmur, "I am not a big baby."

And John huffed a laugh.

"Of course not, you just act like one. Now get some sleep, I will fix your backside when you wake up." John promised with a smile and went to ruffling the unruly curls with a gentle hand.

A moment of silence.

"I really am sorry, John." Sherlock turned his head slightly.

"I am too." John whispered and needn't explain what the apology was for. Sherlock knew the smack to his face was one out of shock but even John couldn't deny that that was wrong.

"I forgive you." The red eyed detective sniffed.

"I forgive you too, Sherlock." And with that both men fell asleep.

A/N: This is surprisingly the happiest thing I have ever written...which says a lot... XD Tell me if you enjoyed it, if you want more? I had not beta review this so it may be rough...sorry...


	2. You Bastard!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dedicated to and inspired by Arkham-Insanity  
> (Sorry this took so long, Dear.)
> 
> But seriously, you all need to check her out on deviantart because she is fantastic.
> 
> And now to this little one-shot.

*0*  
The sun had begun to set when Lestrade and his team were packing up for the night. They had been working for the past few days on a triple homicide that turned out to be the doing of a jealous Nanny who had it in for the lady of the house, her child and finally the Husband who admitted to not actually loving the estranged servant back. It had been a gruesome scene, but Sherlock had flaunted in without so much as a wince, in fact he had been smiling, his boredom had been relieved.

For all of three minutes.

After spurting an incredibly long and lengthy monologue revealing every disgusting detail of the crime he heaved a great sigh of satisfaction before flashing a blinding grin to John who muttered, “Brilliant!”

Three hours later, the photos had been taken, the bodies to the morgue and the scene almost wrapped up so they could all go home for a much needed rest.

Sally and Anderson had spit out several insults and jibes at the sociopath who ignored their every word and stalked over to where Lestrade was packing away a few personal items.

“You will inform me when the next case worthy my attention pops up, won’t you? Preferably an eight or nine.” 

Lestrade looked up at the arrogant sod that he saved all those years ago with a fond smile.

“Yeah, of course Sherlock. Can’t do it without you.” Lestrade held out his hand in his thanks.

Sherlock didn’t take it, but what he did instead was so incredibly shocking that Donovan and Anderson both audibly dropped their jaws. Lestrade found himself in the shockingly warm embrace of a certain high functioning sociopath who whispered a quiet thank you into his ear before disappearing so quickly Lestrade wondered if he had imagined the encounter.

His co-worker’s faces told him otherwise. Looking to a bemused John for some explanation he quickly noticed a certain lightness in his breast pocket, a familiar and small weight, barely detectable but no longer there. Reaching into the chilled folds of his leather jacket he desperately scrambled for his Badge. He wasn’t willing to pay for a replacement…again….for the fifth time.

At least he would have the opportunity to take a better picture. But not the point! Where the bloody hell was-

Oh.

Oh that little Bastard.

He hurried around the corner followed by John and the Yarders who seemed curious at his sudden change in demeanor.

He was going to strangle that skinny, whiney, cheeky-

Sherlock was by the deserted street leaning against a police car, probably waiting for John to catch up so they could walk home together, holding a cigarette in one hand and Lestrade’s badge in the other and a smirk on his bowed lips.

-haughty, manipulative, self-centered-

Sherlock remained entirely oblivious to the approaching Inspector, probably lost somewhere in his mind palace, which made it painfully easy for Lestrade to grasp the thin wrist, snatch his badge back and deliver a walloping smack to the back of the alabaster hand.

Sherlock gasped more in shock of being violently thrown out of his Mind Palace and back into reality than in pain. But it still bloody hurt.

“Why do you insist on being such an arse!? Can’t you leave my stuff alone, please?!” Lestrade growled at the confused Detective before him, still leaning casually against his car.

“Oh, please do shut up Graham!” Sherlock gave the Inspector a frustrated shove to restore some personal space.

Bad idea.

“It’s Greg! You ignorant arsehole! I’ve asked you to leave my badge alone! On several occasions, but do you listen to me? No, you don’t. Because you are an immature child! You always need to win, Sherlock. Because to you it’s a game, it’s funny. But not to me! Just grow up already!” And with that Lestrade grasped him by the wrist and twisting it behind his back, he leaned a very red Sherlock over the hood of his police car and delivered a sharp blow to the Detective’s backside, much to the howling laughter of Donovan and Anderson. John stood not too far from the Yarders, smirking to himself. Sherlock could be a downright pain in the arse and if Lestrade wanted to teach him a lesson, by all means he wouldn’t stop him. He knew Lestrade would never hurt Sherlock, but a little humiliation for acting like such a bloody child might be good for him. 

After three more strategically placed smacks that sent Sherlock wriggling to get away, John found himself biting back giggles at the incredibly shocked face of a raging sociopath. Sherlock’s long legs skittered from underneath him as he struggled for purchase in his awkwardly humiliating position.

-Immature, arrogant, prideful-

Lestrade struggled to keep his hold on the wiggling form, “Stay still, Damn it!” and to his surprise, his instruction was obeyed.  
Lestrade, not wasting an opportunity placed a solid extra ten whacks, one on top of the other, he had two teenage boys of his own, and many times he had dragged them both over his lap several times throughout their lives. He had plenty practice.

Sherlock didn’t appreciate the perfected technique. 

One last wallop was delivered, this one forcing a yelp from the mussed up Detective who was released and spun to face a stern looking Inspector.

-rude, heartless, sod.

Lestrade grasped Sherlock by the collar and pulled him down to look him in the eye and was satisfied to see a bright crimson blush across his cheeks and to find the usual superior twinkle in his eyes was gone and replaced with what seemed like humiliation.

“Now maybe you have learned something out of all of this. Now promise me you’ll leave my stuff alone! Because don’t think I won’t hesitate to pull you over my lap if you pull this stunt again!” Lestrade held the icy gaze until Sherlock averted his eyes and mumbled, “I promise not to take your badge again.”

“Good, now come here you.” This time Lestrade pulled a still blushing Sherlock into a tight, long hug before letting him go with one last squeeze.

“Behave yourself. Now, get out of here, both of you!” Lestrade walked back to his Yarders grinning as he watched Sherlock bolt and John struggle to keep up, and soon they were both out of sight, lost in the streets of London.

“You should have warned me, Sir. I would have had my camera ready!” Sally snorted and wiped a stray tear from her eye.

Lestrade chuckled to himself, reaching in his pocket for a light when he felt his heart skip a beat.

Donovan noted the look of utter shock on her Boss’ face and when no explanation came, she prompted, “Uh, Sir? Is something wrong?”

Lestrade looked up at her after a long moment and sighed loudly, “That little fucker took my wallet!”

A/N: ~You like?


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